Do Dreams Come True?

About a week ago I had this dream.

I emigrated to Australia (and not to New Zealand as I had previously thought during the day). The airport terminus was large, much larger than JF Kennedy outside New York. I slipped through unnoticed, and scrambled across the motor carriageway which was bereft of its usual high volume of traffic. The clouds were low and sombre, the waves were rising rapidly and water rushed over barriers at a terrific speed.

I found shelter in an unusually large shopping mall which was bereft of its usual high volume of traffic. Exclusivity and all that you would come to expect from an upmarket shopping haven, however, I shifted uncomfortably, and made my way to its exits. I had to run long and hard to find it.

The perimeters of this unusually large shopping mall resembled something that one had become accustomed to seeing outside the Bellville railway station back near Cape Town from which I had apparently fled. But its merchants were all Aboriginal Australians, frantically yelling helplessly as thieves made off with their merchandise. They spoke English in the distinctive Australian accent.

I was a gangster, on the outskirts of a modern Australian city, in the suburbs, mostly poor whites were living there. I was dressed poorly in a suit resembling that worn by the protagonist in the Canadian film "Citizen Gangster". I was scrambling for the hills, I struggled to climb its marshy cliffs which resembled those seen outside the favellas of a modern Brazilian city. Thankfully, I was rescued by my clan, after being chased by heavy, stupid wiseguys. "Goodfellas". Thankfully, no Robert de Niro or Joe Pesci.

I was nursing my scars in a tiny backroom which resembled those often seen on the Cape Flats from which I had apparently fled. It was supported by hardboard and had no windows. The women who comforted me, large and dressed in unfashionable floral coveralls, made me feel uncomfortable. They wanted something a little more than nursing me.

To speak of nursing. I fled once more. And found myself back at the airport. This time they nabbed me, and escorted me through the usual checkpoints. And now security had become very tight indeed, the snow-white security guards were armed with sub-machine guns. I was subjected to a thorough body search. Stripped, a hospital gown placed over my dank body. I was examined medically by a kindly looking nurse who spoke to me in the distinct Australian accent. She had a diagnosis.

"You have AIDS".

I have had worse dreams.